Borderline
by Ink On Paper
Summary: And they're standing at the borderline and still can't see the other side . . . . Tiva and Abby.


**A/N: And here is the post-fic for Borderland (which means sort of spoilers for Borderland). I enjoyed writing it, I hope you enjoy reading it! Much love, Kit.**

**DISCLAIMER: I own not a thing.**

Borderline

It is the persistent rapping that draws him unkindly from his sleep, the steady and urgent taps insisting that he come to consciousness. So of course it stops when he opens his reluctant eyes to take in the cool darkness of his bedroom. The soft mattress beneath him and her warm body against him, the air utterly still and quiet, save for rattling snores that punctuate his partner's rhythmic breathing. He listens for a few more heartbeats, honestly straining his hearing to find the elusive noise that roused him, but to no avail. So he sighs, chalking it up to an overactive imagination and settling pipes, and snuggles back down into his bed, burying his nose in her dark curls that fan across his pillow.

Honey and cinnamon and her have nearly lulled him back to sleep, but again the phantom noise reappears, a string several quick taps and a muffled voice. And the fact that someone's at his front door at two eighteen in the morning finally registers with his hibernating brain.

Another sigh and he carefully untangles his legs from the mess of sheets, gently rolls away from his still dozing companion, mindful of not disturbing her. And he locates a pair of sweats crumpled on the carpet and tugs them on as he snatches his discarded t-shirt from the foot of the bed. With a final glance at the figure still curled on the bed, he pulls the door closed and makes his way through his quiet apartment.

More knocking harkens to him as he yanks his shirt over his head, running his hand through his tousled hair. He doesn't bother to check the peephole and opens the door.

And he is surprised to find a certain Goth standing on his doorstep, looking more despondent than he's ever seen her. Her raven pigtails hang limp and her naked face is pale, grey eyes flat and watery and she's been crying. "Tony?" she asks meekly, voice catching, "Can I come in? Please?" And he nods mutely, moving aside to allow her entrance, unable to deny her anything at that very moment because she looks just so very sad. And no sooner does the door click shut that he finds her in his arms, crying softly in his shoulder as he pats her back, uncertain.

"It's okay, Abs," he soothes, guiding her over to his couch, setting her down gently. She hiccups in response and shakes her head, leaving him to wonder what it is that has her so distraught.

"I-I-I'm s-sorry . . ." she takes a deep breath, collecting herself, and he brushes a tear away with his thumb.

"What's up?" he asks gently, slowly processing the last five minutes and coming up just as confused as previously before.

Abby takes another cleansing breath, exhaling shakily, offering him a weak smile. "I just needed a hug, I guess. The sisters are on retreat and McGee is, um . . . ." she bites her lip uncertainly.

Tony's ocean eyes widen as he reaches his own conclusion, demanding, "Do I need to go beat someone up? Is it McGee?"

"No!" she says quickly, hands raised, placating. "You don't need to beat anyone up. I'm okay, just . . . ."

"Tony?"

And Ziva's standing in the hallway, leaning against the wall, wrapped modestly in a green bed sheet and nothing else. Abby's eyes widen in surprised shock, her eyebrows encroaching upon her hairline. Tony's attention flickers between the two women, initially falling on Ziva before switching back to gauge Abby's reaction, only to find the Goth stunned speechless. His eyes return to the Israeli shroud in his bedding, his gaze softening into something different from what he had previously regarded Abby with.

"Go back to bed," he tells her, nodding in the direction she came. "I've got this."

Ziva blinks and, stifling a yawn, retreats back down the hallway, sheets trailing in her wake. Abby manages to find her stolen voice and asks meekly, "Where's your bathroom?" And Tony directs her down the hall, first door on the right. And he hears water running and then Ziva reappears now clad in pajama shorts and a t-shirt, Tony's housecoat over her shoulders.

"What is going on?" she asks softly, concern lacing her words. But Tony just shakes his head, utterly at loss, eyes replying silently, "_I have no idea_."

She seems to accept this and wanders into the kitchen where sounds of her heating water and opening and closing cabinets soon emanate. Then he hears the bathroom tap shut off and the hinge on the door squeaks as Abby's combat boots shuffle back into the living room. He motions for her to come sit, and she does, as Ziva returns bearing a steaming mug of tea.

"Here," she says, passing the mug to Abby, who took it in her pale fingers shakily, but greedily. Ziva offers a weak smile before sitting down in a leather armchair, tucking her feet beneath her. And Abby takes a sip of the scalding liquid, relishing in the light tones of Earl Grey, her hands clinging to the mug like a lifeline. And Tony merely watches their exchange, rubbing his eyes with his thumbs, wondering if he's dreaming.

"What is wrong, Abby?" Ziva implores, brow furrowing in worry.

But Abby just shakes her head, explaining quietly, "I don't really know. I think it's just the whole Mexico thing and the drug cartel and . . . . work. Life in general. I guess it just caught up with me."

Tony, finding his elusive voice, asks, "Is there anything we can do?"

Again, Abby declines, "No, no. I just needed a shoulder. You know me, I hate crying and crying alone is even worse . . . ." she stands up, smoothing her shirt, tugging her jacket up tighter around her shoulders. "Thanks for being here, you guys are the best. I'm sorry I woke you guys up."

Tony mirrors Abby's actions, rising himself, following her to the door. He opens it for her and she lingers in the doorway before giving in a wrapping him in an iron embrace. She still is upset, he can sense it, as if right then Abby's emotions were running on the frequency Ziva's sometimes did, a frequency he is well attuned to. Though she does seem more herself, the smile she gives him when she pulls way actually reaching her eyes. And then her attention turns Ziva, now hovering a little behind Tony, and Abby tugs her into a hug as well. Ziva squeezes her back as Abby whispers, "Thanks for the tea," and she releases the Israeli, waves once, and walks back out into the dim corridor of the apartment complex. Tony watches her until she turns the corner, waits a breath, and steps back, closing the door.

He turns to Ziva, her face the epitome of bemusement, and offers her a half-smile. "Before you ask, I still don't know. And, frankly, I'm not going to figure it out right now."

A grin tugs at her lips, though her eyes are still clouded with worry over Abby, and she suggests, "Bed?"

And Tony agrees, placing his hand at the small of her back, guiding them to a forgiving mattress and the warm fold of sleep. But he can't help but wonder as Ziva curls herself against him once more, as her breathing evens back out and she falls back asleep, exactly what had Abby so upset.

_And they're standing at the borderline and still can't see the other side._


End file.
